The Edge of Armageddon (16 page)

Hayden kept her silence as Ramses directed actions and reactions, reminding his men who was boss, testing their absolute loyalty. After dragging her away from the sports store they had made her run among them along 3
rd
Avenue, then took a moment to locate and ditch her cellphone and tear off her bulletproof vest. Ramses seemed to have some knowledge of tracking devices and their whereabouts and instructed his men to remove her shirt. The small device was found quickly, and discarded, then the group continued their run along what seemed an entirely arbitrary route.

Hayden got the impression that it was anything but.

It took some time. The group ditched their larger weapons and black outer clothing, revealing the usual touristy uniforms beneath. They were suddenly bright, unthreatening, part of a hundred anxious crowds surfing the city’s streets. Police and army patrols lined some of the routes, but the cells just diverted down one dark alley and then another until they were clear. Hayden was given a spare jacket to wear. At one point they climbed aboard pre-positioned motorcycles and took a slow drive out of the inner heart of Manhattan.

But not too far. Hayden wished with everything she had that she could get a message to someone—anyone—now that she knew the location of the bomb. It didn’t matter that they might kill her—it only mattered that these fanatics were stopped.

The bikes were wheeled part way down an alley and then the ten men—eight remaining legionnaires, Ramses and Price—followed each other through a rusted metal side door. Hayden was shoved along at their center, a spoil of war, and although she already knew her fate she tried to take in every sight, every change of direction and every whispered word she overheard.

Beyond the battered outer door, a stinking inner passage led to a concrete staircase. Here, one of the men turned to Hayden and placed his knife against her throat.

“Silence,” Ramses said without turning around. “I would rather not kill you just yet.”

Up they went, four floors, and then paused for only a moment outside an apartment door. When it opened the group crowded in, escaping the hallway as fast as they could. Ramses halted in the center of the room, arms outstretched.

“And here we are,” he said. “At a million endings and at least one beginning. The people of this city will depart this life, never knowing that this is the start of our new path, our holy war. The—”

“Really?” A dry voice broke into the tirade. “A part of me wants to believe you, Ramses, but the other, worst, part—it thinks you’re full of it.”

Hayden got her first good look at Julian Marsh. The Pythian was odd looking, lopsided as if part of him had folded into the other. He wore clothing that would never match, no matter the year or the current trend. One eye was bruised, the other wide and unblinking, whilst one shoe had fallen off. To his right sat a striking brunette that Hayden didn’t know, but by the way they were tangled together it was clear they were associated in more than one way.

Not an ally then.

Hayden watched Ramses react to Marsh’s jibe with disdain. “Did you know?” the terrorist prince said. “That we tricked you before we even met you. Before we even knew the name of the fool that would carry our eternal fire into America’s very heart. Even your own, Tyler Webb, betrayed you.”

“Fuck Webb,” Marsh said. “And fuck you.”

Ramses turned away with a laugh. “Back to what I was saying. Even the people who work here resent this town. It is too costly, too touristy. Ordinary men and women can’t afford to live here and struggle to get to work. Can you imagine the bitterness that fosters against the system and the men who continue to maintain it? There are tolls on the bridges and tunnels. You are nothing if you do not have money. Greed, greed, greed, everywhere. And it makes me sick.”

Hayden stayed quiet, still calculating her next move, still watching Marsh for a reaction.

Ramses took a step away. “And Gator, my old friend. It is good to see you again.”

Hayden watched as the man called Gator embraced his boss. Trying to stay small, quiet and possibly overlooked, she measured how many steps it would take to reach the door. Too many for now.
Wait, just wait
.

But how long could she afford? Despite Ramses’ words she wondered if he even wanted to escape the nuclear blast. The good news was that the authorities would have the airspace sewn up so the man was going nowhere fast.

Robert Price threw himself into a chair, groaning. He asked the nearest legionnaire for a bottle of aspirin, but was pointedly ignored. Marsh narrowed his eyes at the Secretary of Defense.

“Do I know you?”

Price shrank deep into the cushion.

Hayden gauged the remainder of the room, only now setting eyes upon the dinner table that stood by the far curtained window.

Shit, is that . . . ?

It was smaller than she had imagined. The backpack was larger than the standard model, too big to fit in an airplane luggage bin, but wouldn’t appear too ungainly on the back of a bigger individual.

“I sold you this, Marsh,” Ramses was saying. “With the hope that you would bring it to New York. For that I will be forever grateful. Think of it as a gift when I tell you that you and your woman-friend will be allowed to feel the consuming fire. It is the best that I can offer you and far better than a knife across the throat.”

Hayden committed the nuke to memory—its size, shape and backpack appearance—in case she might need it. No way was she dying here today.

Ramses then turned to his men. “Get her ready,” he said. “And don’t spare the American bitch one ounce of pain.”

Hayden had guessed it was coming. They hadn’t been able to tie her hands on the way here and now she took full advantage of it. So many things counted on her right then—the fate of a city, a nation, a major part of the civilized world. The vase to her right came in handy, its neck the perfect width for her hand and of the right weight to cause some harm. It shattered across the closest man’s temple, jagged pieces flying to the floor. When he brought his hand up Hayden grappled for the gun, but seeing that it was wrapped securely around his shoulder she gave up immediately, instead using her hold on the barrel to pull him even further off balance. Guns were leveled but Hayden ignored them all. This was purely last chance saloon now . . . no more fighting for her life—more like fighting for a city’s survival. And hadn’t they just smuggled her in here under cover? That told her a gunshot would be frowned upon.

Gator came at her from the side, but Ramses held him back. Another interesting reveal. Gator was important to Ramses. In another instant she was swamped, unable to focus outside the arms and legs that struck at her. Deflecting one, two blows, but there was always another. Not TV villains these—politely waiting for one to get punched so another could step in. No, these surrounded and assaulted her all at once so that no matter how many she stopped and struck, two more were beating at her. Pain exploded in more places than she could count, but she used a stumble to scoop up a jagged bit of vase and slash two men around the face and arms. They fell away, bleeding. She rolled into a pair of legs, sending their owner tumbling. She attempted to throw a heavy mug at the window, thinking it might attract attention, but the damn thing fell about half a meter short.

What would Drake do?

This, she knew. Exactly this. He would fight until his very last breath. Through a forest of legs she searched for a weapon. Her eyes locked onto Marsh’s and the woman’s but they only clung on even tighter to one another, taking a kind of comfort in an odd companionship. Hayden kicked and spun, happy with every hard-fought scream, then found the couch at her back. Using it as a fulcrum she pushed herself to her feet.

A fist smashed into her face and stars exploded. Hayden shook her head, flicking the blood away and punched right back, making her opponent fall away. Another fist hit the side of her head and then a man tackled her about the waist, knocking her off her feet and back onto the couch. Hayden threw him over the back, using his own momentum. She was on her feet again in a second, head down, punishing ribs and necks and groins and knees with punch after punch, kick after kick.

She saw Ramses step toward them. “Eight men!” he cried. “Eight men and one little girl. Where is your pride?”

“Same place as their balls,” Hayden panted as she damaged them, feeling the weariness now, the pain of multiple blows, the battle fury subsiding. It wouldn’t last forever, and she had not expected to save herself.

But she never stopped trying. Never gave up. Life was an everyday battle whether it was literal or not. As the power left her punches and the energy quit her limbs, Hayden still struck out, though her blows were no longer sufficient.

The men pulled her to her feet and dragged her across the room. She felt a tiny bit of strength return and scraped her boot down a shin, extricating a squeal. Hands tightened around her muscles, forcing her toward the far window.

Ramses stood over the table that held the suitcase nuke.

“So small,” he said wistfully. “So incongruous. And yet so evocative. Do you agree?”

Hayden spat blood out of her mouth. “I agree that you’re the whack job of the century.”

Ramses gave her a puzzled look. “You do? You do realize that is Julian Marsh and Zoe Sheers of the Pythians cuddling down there, don’t you? And their leader—Webb—where is he? Off scouring the world for an ancient archaeological treasure, I believe. Off following the long-dead trail of a long-dead aristocrat. Off following his own crazy footsteps whilst the world burns. I don’t come close to the whack job of the century, Miss Jaye.”

And though Hayden inwardly admitted he had a point, she remained silent. At the end of the day they should all expect a padded cell.

“So what’s next you wonder?” Ramses asked her, smiling. “Well, not much if I’m honest. We’re all where we want to be. You are with the nuke. I am with Gator, my bomb expert. My men are by my side. The nuke? It is almost ready to—” he paused “—to become one with the world. Shall we say . . . one hour from now?”

Hayden’s eyes betrayed her.

“Oh, ha ha. Now you’re interested. Is that too much time for you? Ten minutes then?”

“No,” Hayden gasped. “You can’t. Please. There must be something you want. Something we can negotiate.”

Ramses stared at her as if, against his own will, he suddenly pitied her. “The sum of all I want is in this room. The annihilation of the so-called First World.”

“How do you bargain with men who only want to kill you or die trying?” Hayden said aloud. “Or stop them without resorting to bloodshed yourselves. The ultimate dilemma for the new world.”

Ramses laughed. “You people are so foolish.” He laughed. “The answer is ‘you don’t’. Kill us or bow to us. Stop us or watch us cross your borders. That is your only dilemma.”

Hayden struggled once more as the men pulled away her new shirt and then positioned the bomb so that it was strapped to her front. It was Gator who came forward and unstrapped the buckle of the backpack and unlooped several wires from inside. These had to be attached to the timer mechanism, Hayden was sure. Even terrorists this crazy wouldn’t risk unlooping the actual explosive devices.

She hoped.

Gator pulled at the wires and then looked to Ramses for permission to continue. The giant nodded. Men took hold of Hayden’s arms and forced her forward over the table, bending her frame until the nuke pushed hard at her midriff. Then they held her in place as Gator wrapped the wires first around her back and chest and then down between her legs and finally up until they met at the bottom of her back. Hayden felt every pull of the wires, every shift of the backpack. Finally they used medium-duty straps and duct tape to ensure the nuke was stuck hard to her body and that she was wrapped around it. Hayden tested the bonds and found she could barely move.

Ramses stood back to admire Gator’s handiwork. “Perfect,” he said. “The American Devil secured in perfect position with the object of her country’s destruction. It is a fitting shrine, just as this sinful city is for the rest of them. Now, Gator, set the timer and add enough time for us to go to the zoo.”

Hayden gasped into the table, at first shocked and then nonplussed by the terrorist’s words. “Please. You can’t do this. You can’t. We know where you are, what you plan to do. We can always find you, Ramses.”

“You mean your friendssss!” Gator squealed in her ear, making her jump and jolt the nuclear bomb. “The Englishhhhmannnn! Do not worry. You will see him again. Marsh did have some funnnn with himmmm, but we will toooo!”

Ramses bent close to her other ear. “I remember you all from the bazaar. I believe you destroyed it, ruining my reputation for at least two years. I know you all assaulted my castle, killing my bodyguard Akatash, killing my legionnaires and leading me away in chains. To America. The land of fools. Mr. Price over there tells me you are all part of a team but more than that. You call yourselves family. Well, isn’t it fitting that you are all together at the very end?”

“Fuck,” Hayden breathed into the top of the backpack. “You. Asshole.”

“Oh, no. it is you and your family who are well and truly fucked. Just remember—Ramses did it. And that even this is not my endgame. My failsafe is even more spectacular. But know that I will be somewhere safe, laughing, whilst America and the rest of its western cronies implodes.”